


Body Heat

by Ladderofyears



Series: Drarropoly Founders Edition 2020 [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Azka-Damn, Banter, Broomstick Riding, Drarropoly: A Drarry Game/Fest, Flirty Friends To Lovers, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Huddling For Warmth, M/M, Mild Peril, Naked Cuddling, Orgasm, POV Draco Malfoy, POV First Person, Rain, Seduction, Storms, Wet Clothing, body heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:20:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27698210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladderofyears/pseuds/Ladderofyears
Summary: Harry and Draco huddle for warmth when the two wizards are caught in a storm.“We need to get out of these wet clothes,” Potter said, his eyes flicking across my sodden corduroys and the shirt that hung to my skin as freezing and heavy as a hex. “We’ll catch cold otherwise.” He shook his head, bemused at my baffled expression. “A chill? Didn’t your Elf-Nanny or Mummy ever tell you to take off wet clothes so you wouldn’t get poorly?”
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Drarropoly Founders Edition 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2039589
Comments: 12
Kudos: 137
Collections: Drarropoly '20: Founders Edition





	Body Heat

**Author's Note:**

> My first Drarropoly fill for 2020! 
> 
> Based on the prompt: _Let me get you out of those wet clothes._

“It looks like rain,” I said, casting an eye across the skyline.

Clouds had gathered at the edge of the horizon, grey tinged and threatening. This wasn’t brilliant broomstick weather but then I’ve never been able to say no to Harry Potter. I bit down on my lip “I think, perhaps, that we might live to regret this.”

The bespectacled prat actually had the audacity to smirk at me. 

“Don’t be such a wet blanket,” Potter replied, not bothering to hide the laughter in his voice. “It’s bloody _August_. It won’t rain. Besides, even if it did – and it won’t! – I think a few drops of rain would do you the world of good. You look like you’re about to melt in your posh boy get up.”

I grimaced. The Chosen One was right on the wand as he always was. I’d worn a flannel shirt and corduroys for our ride out to the south coast, not wanting to catch the sun too badly. Protective potions don’t do a whit to stop my skin from burning and I hadn’t wanted to look _too_ much like a boiled lobster by the time evening rolled around. 

One does need to retain some degree of dignity.

“I’ll take your word for it then,” I replied, rolling my eyes and hooking the strap of my satchel over my shoulder. “Aren't _you_ the lucky one? As well as your Order of Merlin and your most-fanciable-wizard prizes you can see into the future! If only were _all_ so gifted, Potter.”

Potter wasn’t put off my sarcasm. I’d said far worse in the past and he’d kept coming back for more of my friendship. All the prat did was roll his eyes and straddle his Firebolt. 

“Oh, I’m a man with many talents,” Potter said, giving me a nod, “and you haven't experienced half of them. Now if you'd get on the back of this bloody broom before the afternoon vanishes faster than _your_ reputation? I want to eat our picnic on the beach.”

I sighed and I hooked my leg over the wooden handle. There’d never been a second of doubt, really. I’d follow Potter to the ends of the earth if he asked me. 

“I still think we’ll get drenched,” I answered, needing the last word as I always did. I settled my hands on Potter's hips, clutching tight to the denim of his blue Muggle jeans. “Still, you know best. Remind me why we’re not Flooing there like _sane_ people?”

Harry kicked us off the ground and we levitated just meters in the air. 

“Because we’re young and we’re lucky enough to bloody _fly_. Go ahead Malfoy. You can still Floo if you wish, but remember _I’ll_ be up there with the wind in my hair and the breeze on my skin. _You’ll_ be down here sweating like a crup in a greenhouse.”

I harrumphed. I’m plenty of things, but a fool isn’t one of them and I knew when to be quiet. Besides Potter wanted me closer to him and I wasn’t about to argue about that state of affairs. 

He took my hands in his own and pulled them around his middle, resting them on the leather of his belt buckle. Then, with a nod of Potter’s potent wandless magic we launched up into the air. That first whoosh when you leave the ground hasn’t ever gotten old and I couldn’t help but grin as I lay my head across Potter’s shoulder, enjoying the musky scent of the man and the feeling of having him close. Potter was right – he’s _always_ right, the great bloody git – the power and freedom of flying is intoxicating. There’s nothing quite like it. 

And Potter? He’s an astonishing flyer. I wouldn’t say it to his face – bloody hell, his head is big enough already – but he’d be a star in any Quidditch team on the planet. The arse knew it too. 

The arrogant prick was trying to outfly the storm, trying to vanquish the very elements themselves. 

The sky above us had taken on that dreaded bruise-green hue of summer storms and then I saw black clouds rolling in from every direction. The humidity was off the charts; my back and palms were slick and sweaty. Petrichor filled my nostrils and I heard the first rolls of thunder rumble through the sky. 

The first raindrop hits me across the cheek, icy cold and grimly unpleasant. We were still miles from Brighton and turning back wouldn’t have made a Sickle of difference either. Days of atmospheric pressure ripped open the sky and Potter and I were drenched to the skin in moments. There wasn’t even time for a rain repulsing charm.

Lightning split the darkened sky and I pressed my body close into Potter’s own, figuring that as my broom-mate had already survived the visit of Death once before he’d be well placed to do it again. 

“You should land the blasted thing,” I shouted, the storm snatching away half of my words. “There’s a barn just ahead.” I wasn’t completely sure that Potter had even heard me. The visibility was fearsomely bad and the wizard battled with his Firebolt, lurching and pitching through the air. We were almost on top of the barn before he dropped us out of the sky. 

There wasn’t a Muggle in sight, thank Merlin, and the pair of us made our way into the squalid shack that was to be our home until the storm let up. We _Lumosed_ our wands, the pair of us soaked to the very skin. 

I couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of Potter. The sopping-wet prat had sat himself down on a hay bale. That ridiculous birds-nest on his head was plastered over his scalp, rainwater dripping in rivulets down his neck and his white tee shirt was _transparent_. I could see the definition of every muscle of his ludicrously Auror-fit body.

Potter wrapped his arms around himself and then he looked over at me. 

I expect that I looked equally bedraggled but I _certainly_ wasn’t expecting the next words that left his lips. 

“We need to get out of these wet clothes,” Potter said, his eyes flicking across my sodden corduroys and the shirt that hung to my skin, as freezing and heavy as a hex. “We’ll catch cold otherwise.” He shook his head, bemused at my baffled expression. “A _chill?_ Didn’t your Elf-Nanny or Mummy ever tell you to take off wet clothes so you wouldn’t get poorly?”

“What in Godric’s good name are you _talking_ about?” I asked, wondering if all those hexes to Potter’s thick head were finally catching up with him. 

“Sitting in wet clothes will make us ill,” Harry explained, “So lets take them off. We can huddle for warmth.” He grinned, warming to the subject. “We’ll be like baby Hippogriffs in their mama’s nest.”

I shook my head. My first hypothesis was definitely correct. Potter was balmy. I’d always suspected as much. 

“It’s August,” I replied with my best scoff, “in the south of England? I don’t believe that either you or I are going to catch our deaths out here in the Sussex countryside-”

“I wouldn’t like to bet all my Galleons on it,” Potter interrupted. His voice was serious but there was a sparkle of amusement in his green eyes. “You’re always bragging about your delicate constitution and you’re as skinny as a wand. You’ll be the first to go, Malfoy. Your lips are already turning blue. Your teeth as chattering.” He raised an eyebrow behind those ludicrous wire-framed glasses. “Don’t worry, though. I’ll give the eulogy at your funeral. Everyone will cry-”

“You talk a fat pile of Muggle nonsense,” I cut in, wanting to stop his prattle. “Answer me this, Potter: how will taking our clothes off make us _warmer?_ ”

“Body heat,” Harry answered and, before I could interrupt, Potter pulled off his tee shirt. 

Circe, but the wizard was a sight to behold. My criticisms died in my throat. Water ran in little streams over his hard muscles and then settled in his thatch of curly chest hair. I’ve always been susceptible to glorious, perfect things and so I found myself pulling off my own saturated shirt over my head as well.

In for a Groat, in for a Galleon. 

_Folie a deux_. 

I could share Potter’s delusions if it meant getting my hands on him. 

It took the pair of us mere moments to strip off to our birthday suits and I stared, unabashed, at Potter’s nude body. He was gorgeous, every inch of him. The hair of his body was as wild as the hair on his head, all of it thick and untamed and his nipples were hard, dark and pebbled. His skin was tanned, brown from the summer sun and a million scars and freckles dusted his flat, muscular belly. His green eyes were blown and they met mine with blatant, raw desire. 

“Body heat,” Potter repeated, his voice thick with arousal. “We should huddle, Malfoy. Share our warmth.”

Potter took my hand. It was calloused, rough – tinged with potent magic – and he tugged me into an embrace on the straw-rutted floor. Potter’s cock, hard as diamonds, brushed against my own and I made a small, throaty noise. Merlin, I could barely help myself. Potter’s cheeks were flushed and his lips were slack and his hands were coasting over my sides. 

“Potter?” I asked, not even sure as I spoke what it was that I was asking. 

“Malfoy,” Potter answered, his voice a rumble from deep in his chest. “Fuck, but I’ve _wanted_ – I’ve craved but this wasn’t how-” 

Potter shook his head and then he closed the gap between us, his kiss astonishing and delighting me. The wizard’s lips were dry, thin, and he tasted sweet, like chocolate, tea and toothpaste. Potter’s kisses were as wild and free as his flying. His tongue curled into my mouth, caressing and tickling and I felt myself respond in kind. I deepened the kiss. My heart raced in my chest as we thrust and frotted against one another in the dust, our bodies aflame. We were laughing, reckless and giddy. 

Then, Potter took my cock in his hand. He stoked and tugged me, pulling my climax from my body as easily as casting a charm. My ears rang, my eyesight blurred and I felt myself drown under wave upon wave of pleasure. Above us the storm rattled the rafters, dust motes floated in the air and I imagined that Potter and I were the only two people in the world. 

Together the two of us collapsed into a sticky, sweaty, rain-slicked tangle. 

As the aftershocks rolled through my limbs, I felt the subtle pinpricks of Potter’s magic _Scourgifying_ the dust, come and rainwater away from my body. My head was hazy – and my brain more than a little melted – and I pushed myself up on an elbow so that I could look down at the celebrated vision that was our Saviour. 

“You’re a clever arse,” I informed him, my voice lax and lazy as the last vestiges of my orgasm left my body. “That trick was nearly Slytherin in its cleverness. _‘We need to get out of these wet clothes?’_ You, Harry James Potter are naught but a seducer and a debauchee. We’re wizards, Potter – Merlin, but you’re supposed to be the most powerful one in a bloody generation! _Huddle for warmth? Baby-bloody-Hippogryffs?_ We could have just used drying and warming spells.” I snorted. “You’re worse than _The Prophet_ headlines claim!”

Potter smiled and cleaned a speck of water off his glasses with a flick of his wand. 

“Seducer? Barely. For such a cynic you got your kit off quick enough Malfoy! I never saw you reaching for your wand.”

I supposed that the wizard had a point. I’d rather liked it when he’d reached for mine though. 

Potter leaned over then and he wrapped his arms around me, squeezing me tightly and pressing a dozen kisses across my chest and jaw, nipping my skin. Outside our barn the storm still raged and Potter’s body was achingly, deliciously hot. We weren't going anywhere in this dreadful weather and I decided that the pair of us may as well use the rest of our afternoon wisely. 

_Body heat_. Perhaps there was something to Potter’s Muggle magic after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading xxxx


End file.
